


The Dark End of the Street

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Angst and Porn, Bottom Dean, Consensual Infidelity, Infidelity, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Professor Castiel, Student Dean, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 08:57:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4998640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester and his film Professor, Castiel Novak, stay up late at the library doing research. And other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dark End of the Street

**Author's Note:**

> This story was deleted from my other (tamer) account so I'm re-uploading here.

Dean read the same passage three times without retention. He should have left hours ago, excused himself to get some sleep. Instead he pressed his fingers to his temple and willed his eyes back to the top of the page. An abrupt, growling snore tore out through the otherwise silent library and Dean swung his head to the right at the sound, startled. The same guy that had been there all night was sprawled at the desk next to the north-facing windows, arm hanging heavily off to the side and head lolled back and away from Dean.

He turned back and met Professor Novak’s amused smirk. Dean huffed out a breath and looked down to the book, but the words skittered on the page like wayward ants. The professor had told him that he was free to stay or go at any point. He hadn’t mentioned it for hours now, even as gradually every other occupant of the top floor of Watson Library had called it a night and resignedly packed up their things and slumped away, soft bedcovers in mind. The shuffling of books, bags, and scraping chairs had given way to the low humming of the bright ceiling lights and air conditioning.

He looked across the table. His professor’s brow was smooth, not scrunched up in concentration like it usually was while reading. Dean closed his sore eyes and it was instant relief. His breathing spread out and his lips parted.

The edges of his vision grew fuzzy and dark, the tug of sleep pulling him under. He felt the slide of fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck and his eyes fluttered drowsily. He cracked them open enough to see a face, dark and huge above him, so close he could smell his skin and feel the heat of his neck. Novak’s eyes searched his then, silently communicating something serious and pleading. Dean let out the breath he unconsciously had been holding, chest shuddering. At that, the fingers in his hair tightened and Dean fell into the motion by tilting his head back. All at once lips crashed down on his.

~~~~~~~

_Dean’s brow had furrowed when he looked down at the dim phone screen in the bright Kansas sunshine. He had walked out of Professor Castiel Novak’s third film lecture moments ago, and already the professor had managed to send out two emails. He skimmed the first and quickly scrolled to the more recent message, which began “Dear Mr. Winchester.” He smiled when he realized it was an invitation to help Novak with his research at the University. He had replied immediately, perhaps too eagerly, knowing that if he allowed himself time to consider the offer he would probably talk himself out of it. As it turned out, the research team was made up of two students, Dean and Jessica Moore. Novak had set up a coffee meeting to discuss the positions in detail.  
_

_The professor had explained to Dean and Jess that he usually worked with some of his graduate or senior seminar students, but that this semester their participation in a new internship program necessitated all of their free time. The research itself was essentially reading hundreds of pages of critiques and meta-analyses. Three weeks in they had ditched the books and watched Cold War era foreign films instead, stealing one of the screening classrooms at the fancy cinematic arts building. Dean’s professor had bribed the cleaning lady with a wink followed by an earnest smile. It was no secret that the leather-clad professor was ridiculously attractive, with his dark tousled hair, toned physique, and strikingly blue eyes. Dean had wondered what a married man like Novak was doing, spending three of his good nights with a couple of undergraduates._

_Dean and Professor Novak met one on one each Saturday evening, since Jess had sorority obligations. Weekends in the library were quiet unless it was midterms or finals season. About a month had passed when Dean first noticed how sometimes he would glance up from his reading to catch Novak’s gaze. At first Dean had simply smirked. Other times Dean would take a break from his research and his attention would inevitably fall on Novak’s mouth where he often twirled his pencil. Dean thought he had to be the only person at the university who still used number two pencils, for Chrissake. He caught Dean’s gaze and smiled crookedly, sticking his tongue out and pointing the offending instrument at him. Dean had laughed at that, tamping down any thoughts about the ridiculous size of the professor's tongue._

_Novak’s expression was utterly warming, the way his eyes and nose would crinkle. One time their feet had crossed and settled comfortably on the floor, neither of them noticing or choosing to bring attention to it. It was only when another girl had looked pointedly at them and then at Dean, a mixture of displeasure and confusion evident on her face. He had awkwardly withdrawn his legs and Professor Novak had scowled fiercely at his writing, pressing a little harder than necessary into the paper._

~~~~~~~

Novak tasted pleasantly of bergamot. Dean slid a hand up to the leather jacket and grasped hard, pulling the man closer still. He made a noise in his throat at that and a current of electricity awakened Dean’s sore limbs. Dean thrust at his chest, their faces separating with a smack as Novak grunted and pulled back, falling into his armchair. Expression wild, he looked at Dean and moved his mouth but no sound came forth. Dean had already leapt forward, following his professor’s descent. His knees straddled Novak’s thighs and his hands pinned his shoulder's to the chair. Rather than meeting those blue eyes Dean dove down and mirrored Novak’s oral assault from moments before. Novak responded immediately, gripping Dean’s hips. 

Apart from the labored breathing and wet contact between lips and tongues the room remained silent. Dean focused his hands on the buttons on Novak’s shirt, pulling back enough to see his work. Novak took advantage of the respite to shrug out of his jacket, then looked at Dean, a hand reaching to grip his jaw and force Dean to meet his eyes.

Some exchange between those gazes took place then, interrupted with a squeeze at Dean’s hips.

Novak rose out of the chair, hoisting Dean’s legs around his waist. He groaned at the weight, taking a few unsteady steps until he set him down on the adjacent table and pressed his lips to the top of Dean’s head chastely, pressing kisses there as his hands deftly worked the buttons on Dean’s shirt. Dean pressed his head into Novak’s bared chest, nuzzling the warm skin there and snuck his tongue out to taste him. 

“Lift your arms.”

Dean complied and Novak abruptly pulled his shirt up and away. Dean reached down to his own fly and pulled the zipper down, hand shaking. Novak reached down and tugged Dean’s jeans down to his knees and Dean lifted himself up off the table to help slip his underwear down past his cheeks. He sat there then, in front of his professor, thighs coldly pressed to the table and grinned.

Novak bent back up and clasped Dean's hand, pulling it up and splaying his fingers. Dean sat transfixed as he let his professor slide one of them into his mouth and sucked. Dean sucked in a breath, then scooted forward enough and pressed his other hand into Novak's shoulder blade, pulling him closer. His lips closed around Novak’s nipple once again, sucking hard and causing the other man to falter at his waistband with a grunt before managing to slide down the zipper and pull himself out. Looking up into his face, Dean noted the debauched appearance of the professor. His collar was askew, shirt gaping open to reveal a bare chest and his hair was whipped up as usual. Dean settled on his face, pink lips swollen and eyes smoldering.

Without breaking eye contact, Dean boldly grasped the base of Novak’s straining cock. The sensation incited a familiar ache in the pit of his belly.

Novak drew himself flush to the table edge and pushed Dean’s chest back until his head cracked against the tabletop. He dragged Dean’s hips forward across the table to meet him, eliciting a hiss from the painful rubbing against his bare back. Novak clasped Dean's wrists together and bent over, capturing Dean’s lips once again. Dean arched up to meet the kiss when a hand settled at his chest and pulled at the nub of flesh there. Dean's moan passed through his lips right into the heat of Novak’s mouth. His tongue plunged further and curled behind Dean’s upper row of teeth, producing obscene smacking noises that made Dean’s cock spasm. He felt Novak grind his hips down into his and Dean snapped his own upwards instinctually. 

Novak bit down on his lip with a gasp and Dean yelped in protest. Blue eyes narrowed and Novak splayed his palm firmly against Dean in warning and whispered _shhhh_ then stifled the cry with his mouth.

The tangle of clothing caught at his ankles finally registered with Dean and he kicked his legs wildly until they slipped to the ground. He thanked the powers that be that he had already discarded his shoes hours of research ago. Legs finally bare, he brought his knees up to tighten around Novak’s waist, heels digging into the small of his back. Novak pulled his head back a fraction but kept his arm firmly panted on Dean, preventing his pursuit. His eyes gleamed as he brought two of his fingers to Dean’s mouth. Dean dropped it open automatically and his eyes squeezed shut as Novak swirled the digits on his tongue. He drew them up to his own mouth and sucked until they shone, slick with their combined saliva. 

Dean’s head dropped back to the table with a thump as he groaned pathetically. Novak chuckled lowly, whispering, “Oh Dean, you should see yourself.”

Novak's hand journeyed downward and traced over the inside of Dean's thigh, leaving a wet trail that raised goosebumps. Dean trembled, stifling a whine as his cock begged for contact. His feet struggled to find a grip on the back of Novak’s shirt in order to give him leverage to press into the man’s glistening fingers. Dean exhaled, about to let out a long _ohhh_ when Novak slid his other arm up to cup over Dean’s mouth. Dean opened his eyes and saw the arched brow of his professor and remained quiet. 

Novak finally grasped Dean, his grip confident. He set up a practiced pace, expertly tugging at Dean and increasing the pressure every time Dean let out a sound muffled by the firm hand at his mouth. Fingers curled down in contact with his balls and Deans's chest heaved with a deep exhale. The familiar pressure built up quickly then, and Dean's legs quivered in anticipation for the tremendous deluge of sensations. His eyes were screwed shut, nose wrinkled. _Cas_ , he thought. He wouldn’t dare speak out so he shouted in his mind instead, all of the things he had built up over the past weeks. 

Dean’s hips crushed into the table and he pushed his thighs outwards, angling uncontrollably until finally he spilled his release, streaking against Dean’s stomach and chest and Novak’s forearm. His nostrils flared with the effort of breathing and he shivered with each pulse of pleasure combined with the chill of the air-conditioned space. Weakened, one of his legs dropped down to rest against the side of Novak’s thigh, the edge of the table nestled under the crease at his knee. 

Novak bent forward again, tongue lapping at his abdomen and chest. He finally removed his hand and Dean let out a deep exhale. Novak hummed against Dean’s heaving chest and Dean’s head sagged off to the side, exposing his neck. The man was murmuring words into his slickened skin, but Dean only heard the rush inside his mind. 

Novak’s hair was flopped over on his sweaty forehead, far too tame for the salacious, come-streaked expression on his face. Dean’s other leg, too weak to hold up, also fell to the side. The movement stretched his legs wide and he winced. Novak straightened up and Dean heard through the haze of his mind the crackle of a wrapper. His professor bent over for a moment to retrieve the lubricated condom, which had fallen to the ground before straightening up and enveloping his seeping erection.

He stroked twice down Dean’s thighs before snaking his arms under his knees and lifting his legs up once again. Dean's leg quivered with the strain and then Novak's hand was wrapped around himself, guiding the head of his cock against Dean. The intrusion was slow but the pressure was searing. Too much. Dean clenched his jaw and grimaced at the pain, hands scrambling for purchase and finding the edge of the table behind his head. He felt the drag as Novak pulled back only to thrust in again, buried even further. He worked brutally, firm hands shoving Dean’s ass down onto him as his hips surged forward. 

Deliriously, Dean chanted to himself _This is good, this feels good_ again and again. His ass ached, more dully now, his body wanting to convince itself as much as his mind. His hands still clutched to the table edge as if he were clinging to the edge of a cliff. The slapping of flesh and wet squishing between bodies was unmistakable.

Dean clenched around him and the sudden increase in pressure drew a long, deep groan and a punch of escaping air from the older man. More erratically, he pushed in again; once, twice, and on the third thrust his nose scrunched up. The sight reminded Dean of the times Novak had laughed at one of Dean’s jokes - the kind that only earned a headshake from Sam. He tossed his head back when he came and Dean opened his eyes long enough to see his shoulders twitch and the parts where his white dress shirt clung to his shining body. 

He fell to his forearms then, breathing roughly at Dean's neck. Eventually his lips closed around Dean's flesh, his kisses sloppy and drunken. He said something, two or three words, Dean thought. Dean’s brought up his hand to cradle the back of his head and a spasm ran down his arm as his throat tightened. His other hand snaked under his dampened shirt to clutch at his back. Novak softened inside of him quickly and Dean wasn’t sure if he was relieved or despaired at the loss. He was no longer sensible to the pressure. With both arms wrapped around him, Dean pulled at Novak to close the few inches between their chests. 

At Novak's hesitation, Dean turned his head to tell him, “'S okay. Want the weight.”

Novak let himself be pressed firmly against Dean, their bodies lining up from hip to shoulder, slick with sweat and come. Dean's lungs protested at the press of the muscular man but the relief was instant, their sticky bodies fused. Already, finger-shaped bruises were forming on Dean’s thighs and hips. Novak’s nose was buried at Dean’s neck, his hands swirling reassuringly at his ribs. Dean's breathing slowed. 

Too soon, Novak pulled away, dealing with the spent condom. Dean’s gut twisted without pleasure. He leaned back up on his shaky elbows and watched as his professor picked up his underwear and slipped them over Dean’s feet wordlessly without meeting Dean’s eye. Finally he collapsed into the nearest armchair, letting out a shaky breath and glancing to the other side of the room as he zipped up his pants. The other student was there; head still slumped toward the window.

Leaving the jeans behind, Dean slipped down to the floor and walked over to him. Boneless and weak, Dean fell down into his lap. Novak gathered him up in his arms, re-situating him so that his legs hung over the side and he was seated sideways, head resting against his chest. He could hear the rapid flutter of Novak’s heartbeat. His professor rested his cheek on the top of Dean’s head, kissing his forehead modestly and running his fingers through his short hair.

Dean’s mind elected to close up shop in anticipation for the storm. Novak must have been tired too because the weight of his head pressed into Dean increasingly. After a time, he canted his head slightly to whisper into Dean’s ear.

“We can’t fall asleep.”

“Mmhmm,” he replied into his chest, not opening his eyes.

Novak tilted his chin so that they faced each other. The breaths that passed between them didn’t smell of bergamot anymore, but of something more base. He ran his thumb over Dean’s lips a few times, gaze thoughtful. Dean wanted him to say something good. He wanted to kiss him again. Most of all he wanted to fall asleep there. Instead he swung his legs over and bent up and out of his lap. He didn’t know if Novak watched him bend over and pick up his jeans off the ground, shaking them back up to his hips. 

At some point Dean's ears started ringing. A cold hand landed on his shoulder and circled him around, filling his arms with something – his shirt. In front of Dean, Professor Novak looked solemn, his shirt now neatly buttoned up and black leather jacket back in place. Dean stared. Someone sighed and pulled the shirt from Dean’s hands.

“Put your arm out,” said an even voice. 

Dean obeyed. With some pulling and tugging the shirt was back on, even buttoned up all the way. Dean looked down at himself, noting that the buttons were lined up unevenly.

“It’s wrong,” he pointed out.

Novak winced.

“The buttons – they’re uneven,” Dean said. Neither of them moved. 

The ringing continued. Dean blanketed himself in its evenness. His books slipped easily into his bag and when a pen rolled onto the ground he didn’t retrieve it. Dean slung the bag onto his shoulder and it sagged open and unzipped. He bent down to lace up his boots and then they headed for the staircase so Dean went along with them. He could almost ignore the aching numbness between his ass cheeks. 

He burst out the front doors into the relative darkness. The sky was the brown of night-time in Lawrence. There were sounds of fountains gurgling and crickets chirping. Some students burst out laughing a ways off and Dean let out a shuddering breath. The ringing was dissipating, so much harder to preserve out in the real world.

A door closed behind him. His professor was walking swiftly after him looking stricken. Dean grit his teeth. Novak was holding out a folder in his hands. Dean wondered if his fingers taste like him. The man circled around so that he blocked Dean’s way. He took the proffered folder numbly. Novak stepped up and turned Dean so that they stood face to face, his arms holding Dean’s shoulders firmly. Dean’s arms hung like dead weight at his sides. He tilted his head to the side and swiped his thumb under Dean’s eye, coming away glistening and then cupped the back of his head lightly. He kissed Dean, languid but heavy with meaning. Dean returned it effortlessly. Before they stopped, Dean drew the end of Novak’s lower lip between his teeth for just a moment and then dropped that too.

“I’ll see you next Wednesday.”

“Okay,” Dean breathed.


End file.
